


Temptation Trauma

by Sandboy28



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Discipline, Hurt/Comfort, Kidlock, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:52:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandboy28/pseuds/Sandboy28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sherlock had known Moriarty as a child? The pair get up to some juvenile delinquency. Parental discipline follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation Trauma

At fifteen, Sherlock Holmes was a bright, if slightly withdrawn boy. Painfully thin with laser sharp azure eyes and a chiseled handsomeness still softened by extreme youth. His parents were strict, but by no means overbearing. That trait was reserved for his elder brother, Mycroft. Seven years his senior and already a junior member of British Government, he was often en loco parentis when the Holmes’ were abroad. Sherlock chafed under his brother’s rule and frequently challenged him. Usually resulting in grounding and the occasional spanking which young Sherlock took great issue with.  
It was summer and Sherlock was enjoying a short break from his private school. Since he had few friends and the ones he had were his intellectual inferiors he spent most of his time in his bedroom which he had modified into a rather impressive laboratory. Microscope, test tubes in their stands, even a crude autoclave and culture cabinet to grow fungi and other things.  
Mycroft was once again in charge and was making his presence known at least five times per day, much to Sherlock’s annoyance. This took the form of poking his head, uninvited or course, into Sherlock’s room and skewering him with a gimlet eye. Sherlock tried to ignore him but after the fifth intrusion he fetched a sigh and abandoned his project. He stood and spared Mycroft a killing look and left with Mycroft following him to the door.  
“Where are you going, Sherlock?”  
“Out!”  
“Out is not a destination.”  
“AWAY FROM YOU!” Sherlock snapped, walking quickly down the drive toward his friend, Jim’s house. He was bristling at the nerve of that numpty, actually thinking himself his guardian! The air was fresh and the temperature mild, helping to calm him as he made his way the quarter mile to James Moriarty’s house. James was the brightest boy at school besides himself and he could actually share a reasonable conversation with him. He was a bit of a scamp however and Sherlock had found trouble in his company several times during their acquaintance.  
Sherlock pressed the doorbell at the Victorian mansion and waited. Presently the door swung open and their butler, Avery answered. “Do come in, Mr. Holes. Mr. Moriarty is in his room.” Avery was a sweet old gent who enjoyed the boys, even their occasional impish prank on him. Once Sherlock and James had rigged one of the doors with a plastic bucket full of confetti. The joke had angered James’ father, earning both boys a scolding but Avery had laughed it off.  
“Hey! Sherlock come on mate. I’m just on my way into town.” James skipped down the stairs, smiling broadly and slapping Sherlock’s back companionably. Avery smiled warmly and let the youngsters out, silently wishing he were young again.  
“Mycroft run you out again, did he?’ Jim chortled. Sherlock smirked and nodded the affirmative. “No matter! Today I have a plan…”  
* * *  
It was parked away from the rest, the keys dangling out of the ignition like a gift. A beautiful, brand new red, 1992 Vector W8! Sleek and wedge shaped. The boys stared at it appreciatively. Sherlock as usual, was bored. Standing with his arms crossed he spoke:  
“Very nice. Why did you bring me here? To ogle some rich person’s new motor?”  
“No, doofus. We’re going to take a ride!” Jim’s eyes were alight with devious glee. Sherlock felt a tug in his stomach, signaling impending doom.  
“You cannot be serious, Jim. We’ll be arrested, jailed for life!” he stared incredulously at the other boy. A random car shopper passed closely and they two boys withdrew further into the bushes.  
“Listen, Sherlock. This place closes in fifteen minutes. They leave the keys in these cars all night! We can take her for a spin and be back before anyone notices.”  
“I highly doubt they leave expensive cars out at night with keys in just waiting for the errant car thief to ply their trade.”  
Jim chuckled at Sherlock and punched his arm for emphasis. Sherlock frowned and rubbed his arm.  
“No, I tell you! It’s madness. We’ll be caught.”  
Jim wilted and rolled his eyes at his friend. “Boooooing.  
Sherlock you are sooo bloody boring!” This last comment stuck in the boy’s craw. He chafed and shot Jim a nasty look. Jim’s face brightened as he realized he’d cracked that Holmes armour. “Come on! You’re only young once and this will be the jape of a lifetime!”  
Sherlock’s frown deepened and he pinned Jim with another glare. “I we’re caught I’m going to say it was your idea!”  
‘DEAL!’ Jim squeaked with delight and quickly covered his mouth, chortling.  
“I just know we’re going to regret this…”  
“Oh, shut it! Let’s get into position…”  
The two rascals crouched in the brush for another twenty minutes as the adults gradually left, sure enough leaving the beautiful car with the keys in. The wait ended when Jim grabbed Sherlock’s shirt sleeve and dragged him to standing. “Come on!” he stage whispered, running around to the driver’s side and opening the door. Sherlock followed suit.  
Once inside, Jim made short work of starting the car and throwing it into gear. The motor roared to life, making Sherlock wince at the loudness of it. His guts twisted up in knots. His throat was bone dry as Jim screeched the tyres and flew out of the lot. Sherlock held on for dear life!  
Jim sped past several other cars on the narrow road, paying little attention to the fact that neither boy was truly tall enough to see what they were doing. Twice Sherlock shouted “Look out!” as Jim nearly collided with other cars. They came to an intersection and stopped, Sherlock thanking the universe that they were still alive, at least so far. That’s when it happened.  
Had Jim been a bit taller he would have noticed the car speeding along to their right at the four-way. Instead he pulled out and the nose of the supercar was impacted with incredible force by the other car, spinning it in circles. Both boys were slung out of their seats. Sherlock was literally driven by centrifugal force under the dashboard and Jim was smashed into Sherlock’s seat. It all happened in seconds. There was a moment of silence before Jim came to and realized what had happened. He was bruised and shaken up but thankfully otherwise alright. Sherlock was not so lucky.  
Jim panicked at the sight of his friend. Sherlock’s small body was jammed under the dash. His right arm twisted in a strange angle, his head facing the underside of the car. Jim pulled Sherlock’s head back and there was blood. oh God! So much blood! The boy was unconscious. Jim heard the door slam on the other car and a man, who looked the worse for wear ran around to see what the damage was.  
‘Oh, my God! Dear God are you boys alright?” He jerked what was left of the passenger door open and slid his hands under Jim’s arms and pulled him free of the car. He then went for Sherlock. “Oh, poor lad! He’s out!” He ran back to his car and extracted a mobile car phone and dialed the police and fire service. Afraid to harm Sherlock more, he left him be as Jim paced the scene, his hand going to his head as if to contain his brains, terrified for Sherlock.  
The ambulance came minutes later and pulled Sherlock’s limp little body from the car and put him onto a back board. He looked like a rag doll. Jim was crying, in shock as they checked him over. The police were asking questions but Jim couldn’t answer. Both boys were rushed to A&E.  
* * *  
Sherlock awoke to pain. Lots of pain. His arm throbbed and the right side of his lip stung terribly. He explored it with his tongue, feeling stitches. He had never had stitches before. Interesting he thought absently. He was drowsy and weak. Almost too weak to open his eyes. he managed to open them in tiny slits at first. His vision was blurry but he could make out forms. He heard his father’s voice.  
“He’s coming to.”  
Sherlock’s mother was there, softly stroking his mop of unruly black curls, her perfume wafting into Sherlock’s nostrils. Mummy? Ahhhh Everything’s alright. Mummy is here… Mycroft had called them back from holiday!  
“Sherlock?” Her soft voice coaxed. ‘Sherlock darling, wake up for Mummy. Come on then, that’s a good boy.” Sherlock’s eyes fluttered and opened. His mother, father and a Policeman! He groaned forlornly. “Sherlock how do you feel?’ His mum asked sweetly. Why wasn’t she shouting at him?  
“Mummy…it hurts.” He heard his mother choke back a sob and saw her turn to her husband, being enfolded in his embrace. His father looked down on him with sadness and sympathy.  
“Shhhh. It’s going to be alright son.” His dad said gently. “You just rest.” Sherlock relaxed and closed his eyes as a sister suddenly hove into the picture, nudging the Policeman out of the way so she could adjust his IV drip.  
“Do you need something for pain, sweetheart?” The sister asked, hovering close to his face. Her pert breasts poked into his bare chest and he smiled inwardly, imagining telling Jim about it.  
“Y…yes please.” he croaked weakly.  
“I’m sorry officer but my son is just not ready to speak to you. Perhaps in a few days…” His father said sternly.  
“No worried Mr. Holmes. We got most of it from the other boy. Your son just needs to report to the Borough Magistrate when he’s released. Since this is his first offense he’ll likely only get a fine and probation.”  
A FINE! PROBATION! Sherlock’s chest tightened and a tear slipped down his face. His mother tenderly wiped it away. “Shhhh, my baby. The sister’s going to get you something for this pain. Mummy’s here baby.” She sat beside him. tenderly stroking his hair and face. It only made his guilt all the worse. He sobbed bitterly.  
“I…I’m sorry mummy. I’m sorry dad.”  
“We know, son.” His father replied. “We’ll talk about it later. You just rest now.” Sherlock immediately knew what that meant. He seriously doubted that much talking would be involved. His bottom tingled at the thought of it.  
“Jim?” Sherlock squeaked out.  
“Your little friend spent the night in jail, son. He’s awaiting trial. You should know he blamed YOU for everything.” His father’s voice was tight with anger.  
“It wasn’t me…” Sherlock choked out and began to cry. He sobbed bitterly, his mouth hurting as the tears stung his stitches. Mummy comforted him still.  
“We know darling. I’m going to see to it that the Magistrate knows too.”  
“It was stupid…STUPID!” Sherlock suddenly wailed. He was just sure that his life would be a living Hell after this.  
* * *  
Jim had been charged with car theft and ended up spending three months in juvenile detention and he was given an ASBO. Sherlock, standing pitiful and terrified in front of the Magistrate was fined a thousand pounds (“Which is coming out of your allowance young man”) and given one year’s probation. The Insurance company paid in full for the car and the owner had no hard feeling, explaining to the Court that he had done something similar as a boy. He had ruffled Sherlock’s hair and bade his father not to be too hard on him as he left the Court. Sherlock had apologized to the Magistrate, the owner of the car and to his parents. The Magistrate gently scolded him, telling him that he seemed like a good, intelligent boy and that he had made a bad decision. He followed that up by recommending a sound spanking to his parents, as Sherlock squirmed with embarrassment.  
Finally at home, Mycroft hove into view like a dreadful troll, and menaced Sherlock immediately even as he cradled his broken arm.  
“I should thrash you right now.” Mycroft hissed at the boy who withdrew timidly.  
“That’s quite enough out of you, Mycroft!” His father intervened. “Any thrashing will be dealt with by me and me alone. And if you badger Sherlock in his convalescence it may be YOU who gets the thrashing!” Sherlock smiled inwardly and kept shut, enjoying the defense. “As for you, young man, you can expect a thorough spanking when that plaster comes off your arm.” Sherlock’s reveries were cut short by this news. He sighed dejectedly. Hadn’t he been punished enough? Now he would have to wait, miserably anticipating a painful spanking from his father.  
* * *  
Six weeks later the cast was removed. Sherlock and his parents arrived at home to find Mycroft waiting to witness the festivities. “Don’t you have work to do?” Sherlock snarled at him as he came through the door.  
“No.” Mycroft retorted smugly. “I’ve been given a day off. I thought I would spend it with my loving parents.”  
Sherlock’s father motioned for Mycroft to come to him. He whispered something into his ear, apparently a quite persuasive something because Mycroft immediately and quietly (for once) left. Sherlock sat on the couch, eyeing his father meekly. “Stay put.” His father said sternly. Sherlock’s mum gave him a sympathetic look and retired to the kitchen. She’d be no help.  
Once out in the shed, Mr. Holmes looked about for something to paddle his son’s small, thin bottom. Finally his eyes fell upon an old hand mirror. “Ah!” he exclaimed, pulling it out and walking to the bins, he tapped it firmly against a bin, breaking out all the glass. Perfect. He strode back in and crooked his finger at his nervous son who reluctantly followed him to his room upstairs.  
“Sherlock, I personally feel you have been punished enough with your broken arm and your mouth permanently scarred. That plus losing your allowance for a year and having to be on probation. However, you are still very young and I want you to learn your lesson about delinquent behaviour. Do you understand, son?”  
“Yes sir.” Sherlock mumbled at the floor. Mr. Holmes smiled down at his son and pulled him into a hug. Sherlock was so frail and small for his age. He’d be extra careful with him.  
“Come here son.” He sat on the edge of Sherlock’s bed and motioned his over. Grasping his left arm he pulled him in and began to unsnap Sherlock’s jeans. Down came the jeans and the little white pants to his bony knees. Mr. Holmes drew Sherlock over his lap gently and held him in place with one hand firmly placed on the small of his back. Sherlock laid obediently still but Mr. Holmes felt and heard a sob wrack his small body. “Shhhh. It’ll be alright.” His guts twisted and he hauled back, bringing the makeshift paddle down on his son’s bare bottom with a loud CRACK!  
Sherlock jerked violently and yipped. Two round, red spots bloomed on his pale little bottom. He drew back again and began to paddle Sherlock, taking care not to be too severe. Still it had to sting and the boy yelped and cried throughout. After a dozen or so swats he stopped and spoke to Sherlock: “Do you understand what you did wrong son?”  
“Yes sir!” Sherlock cried out, anguished. His bottom was bright pink and heat radiated up from it.  
“Alright. Just a few more then.” he drew back and peppered Sherlock’s poor little behind with half a dozen crisp spanks, wringing loud sobs from him. His long legs kicked in misery.  
Mr. Holmes dropped the paddle and gathered Sherlock up in his arms tenderly. His bottom was on fire and he took care not to make him bear weight on it. He held him against his chest, rocking him. he was shocked by how light he was.  
The sobbing turned to hitches, then to hiccups as he comforted his son. “Shhhh. yes, there there. I know that hurts. It’s alright now. All over.” Sherlock clutched his father’s shirt and his hot breath was spent against his father’s shoulder. Finally, Mr. Holmes stood and laid his son face down on the bed and gently rubbed his sore little bum. A small sob escaped him and he finally sighed and relaxed.  
Mr. Holmes gently pulled his pants and trousers up and fastened them. As he did he noticed the deep, even breaths of his sleeping son. Poor little mite. He’s had a deuced hard few weeks. he thought as he stroked Sherlock’s curls. He left his boy to sleep and crept downstairs. Mrs. Holmes spared his an expectant look and he calmed her fears. “He’s alright, darling. Asleep.”  
“He always did fall asleep after a spanking.” She replied, walking arm and arm with her husband into the kitchen to make the tea. Sherlock slept off the trauma and never broke the law again.


End file.
